It wasn't long before Blake took off at a breakneck pace. 'Breakneck', because while he wasn't going particularly fast, dock workers don't really look out for people who are getting in their way, and there are plenty of things to trip over and walk into on a pier. Mallory fought to catch up to him with her significantly shorter legs.

"I see it," she panted as she finally reached her friend again. She had sticks and leaves in her hair from hurtling through the shrubbery. The smell of the unseen chicken wafted through the air like butts. The bear-like snoring drilled more than cut through the air, grated its way through Mal's ears and embedded itself in her brain like a chainsaw. Instantly, she felt a deep-seated hatred for this man. It was probably fueled for the hunger, and the sudden, wild urge to grab the stick near the man's head and knock him unconscious and steal all his stuff seized her. Yes, she was a true pirate! It was in her blood, even when she wasn't at sea.

With a finger pressed to her lips, she crept forward over the grass. Unfortunately, there were also a lot of loose sticks around, and when Mal had just about reached the sleeping man's head, she stepped on one. It snapped loudly, the man grunted, twisted, and Mal screamed and grabbed the stick near his head and jammed it downwards point first. The completely innocent man let out a horrific, pig-like squeal of pain, which only prompted Mal to scream in just as much shock and whap him repeatedly on the side of his head in an effort to stop the ruckus.

In the end, it worked.

Mal stood, panting, teary-eyed, clutching the stick with both her hands. Her knuckles were white. She threw a frantic glance at Blake, whom she had barely registered was even still there during the approximately 46 seconds of utter horror. The man was still breathing, but he wasn't moving, and the stick was a little red. The smell of the chicken worked its way back into her consciousness, and the stick was thrown carelessly aside as the bird was retrieved from its basket. Mallory practically snarled as she bit into the chicken, grease dripping down her cheek as she stumbled towards Blake with it.

Blake watched in shock as Mallory stabbed the man with the end of the stick before proceeding to beat him mercilessly about the head with it. The man's wails were drowned out in a series of grunts and muffled yelps, until finally he was slumping back down to the ground, the arms that had been attempting to cover his head protectively now slapping down onto some of the twigs that littered the ground beneath the tree. A full grown man had just been beaten into a state of unconsciousness by a small, scrawny girl armed with a stick. Although he felt sorry for the man, Blake couldn't help but smile at the limitless capabilities of his friend. It was clear that if she hadn't predicted the ship's destruction earlier she could have easily taken over the vessel. She was unstoppable.

He stared hungrily as she pulled the chicken out of the basket, feeling the amount of saliva in his mouth triple as she tore into it with a savagery that suggested he might lose a finger if he tried to take a piece. But the painful emptiness of his stomach overwhelmed any reluctance he might have felt at the prospect.

"Mal, leh'me ge' a bit," he said as he moved closer to her stumbling form; she was still winded from her surprise assault, but it didn't seem to be stopping her from attacking the poultry like a wild animal. "I'll givit' back aft-"

A shout reached his ears, and rapid footsteps; he turned to see two men running towards them, the looks on their faces making it clear that they'd witnessed what had just happened. One of the men, the one in front, reached him first and effortlessly knocked him to the ground; he was tired, weak, and skinny whilst his attacker was both tall and strong. The other man, who was rather fat and much shorter, was headed straight for Mallory, passing through the clearing like butts.

Blake's senses came to life as he caught sight of the rod in the man's grip. His own pains were forgotten as he realized Mallory was in danger; at the same time, he caught a whiff of something particularly pungent and turned to see a small heap of **** not far from where he was sprawled out on the ground.

The man who had knocked him down put a hand on him to keep him where he was, but with the speed of a snake's strike the boney youth wriggled out from under him and seized a handful of the ****, pelting it as hard as he could at the adult advancing on Mallory.

"Ey! Your ma sucks cocks f'coin!"

Blake was no expert on verbal assaults, or insults in general, but he knew the basic rule. People generally didn't like it when you said their mothers sucked things, and if it was for money it was even worse. Flinging animal droppings at a person's face while doing so was sure to draw the maximum amount of anger, he figured.

The **** hit the side of the man's face with an audible SPLAT, and by the time he could turn, shocked and enraged, Blake was already tearing across the clearing in the opposite direction, bare feet navigating the ground with buttery ease.

"She sucks goats too!" he called over his shoulder, turning his head just enough to see that they were already gaining on him, the shitfaced one moving much faster than his appearance would have suggested possible. Aside from the feces plastering his cheek, his entire face was very red and there was a vein pulsing in his forehead.

Blake felt a bit worried as he plunged through some bushes, twigs scraping fiercely at him as he pushed through, but at least they weren't going after Mallory. Hopefully they wouldn't kill him when they caught him, though.

Mallory only growled in response to Blake's question. She was absolutely considering keeping the entire, delicious bird for her. And she would have done it, if not for the desperate tone of the starving teenager that made the door to her conscience creak open, just a sliver. Still holding onto the bird, she bent over and reached for the nearest stone to hurl at the man who was holding her best friend down. Mallory snarled, bits of chicken and globs of greasy spittle flying from her mouth, looking every bit the wild animal she almost was. The stone hit the man with a satisfying thud, giving Blake enough time to slip away from him like a wet bar of soap. Unfortunately, it also attracted the attention of his brutish friend, who turned to Mallory with a vicious grimace that matched her own - and a metal rod that looked like it had bashed in one or twelve skulls in its time.

She froze, eyes searching frantically for more rocks she could throw, but nothing but pebbles appeared within her sight. She shot a quick glance downward at the biggest throwable object she could find. The chicken. **** no. One step backwards, then another. There was no escape. Mallory's brown eyes widened in fear. He was going to steal her hard-earned food and beat her up in the process, there was no doubt about it. She shrieked as he raised the hand holding the rod, but the blow never came. Instead, a handful of dung sailed elegantly through the air and splattered beautifully on the man's cheek. Mallory risked a peek behind him. Relief was an understatement of what she felt as she saw the back of Blake disappear into the distance faster than she had ever thought him capable of.

The now insanely furious man set after him, and Mal, after a moment of making her legs stop shaking, followed. Blake had saved her so many times already. The least she could do was try to keep up.

Blake's bare feet pounded the earth as he sprinted with everything he had; he could hear the pursuit behind him, drawing closer, and although he screwed his face up with the effort he put in, struggling to increase his pace, he was already going as fast as he could. The two men chasing him were larger, heavier, and under ordinary circumstances they'd have been much slower, but they were well-fed and healthy whereas he'd had a stale cracker and nothing else for about as long as he could remember.

He left the docks behind, darting into an alleyway and jumping over a short wooden fence; he was running based on instinct and immediate observation, and nothing else. There was no thought as to where he was going - he only knew where there was room to duck under something, or if one path seemed clearer than the other.

He ended up trudging through a garden, watching wistfully as he passed several plants laden with plump, bright red tomatoes; he was wondering if he had time to pick a couple when something long and thin hit him struck in the neck.

He looked forward in time to see a series of female undergarments flying forward before heaving back towards him - the clothesline was strong enough that it knocked him right off his feet as it whipped back. He landed hard on the ground with a grunt of pain and watched several black spots as they began swimming across his vision.

A pair of strong yet gentle hands grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him up to his feet; before he could protest or attempt to fight them off, he was being steered into a doorway just a few feet away. "My my, looks like you've made some friends," muttered a woman's voice, and then the door was being closed and he was waiting inside, listening as heavy footfalls outside came to a halt just outside the door.

"Where is he?!"

"Where is who, Bertram?"

"The little rat who hit me in the face with ****, that's who!"

Blake put his ear up against the wood, listening intently as the two men, both of them out of breath and evidently furious, accosted the woman whose clothesline had floored him.

"Yeah, some dirty urchin whose friend we were going to discipline for stealing-"

"Not to mention beating Lester for his chicken-"

"And he went barreling over your fence so we know he's been through here, Margo, so out with it!"

There was a pause, during which Blake held his breath and waited to be given up. This woman didn't know him, she had no reason to protect him, and most importantly, she seemed to know the two men who'd been chasing him. Furthermore, they weren't lying about what he and Mallory had done.

"I'm sorry, but I honestly have no idea what you two are going on about. I saw no children coming through here, and if you intended on harming either of them with that rod of yours, Michael, then I wouldn't have helped you regardless. I am tired of telling you two about your atrocious habits."

"But Lest-"

"Lester was probably drunk, wasn't he? When he was supposed to be working? Hmm?"

Blake moved away from the door, exhaling with relief, missing the rest of the conversation as he knelt down on the floor of the small home. His head was swimming; exhaustion and hunger, not to mention blood loss, were all finally taking their toll on him. He blinked, and what felt like an instant later he awoke to find himself stretched out on a long, cushioned chair.

He jumped, sitting bolt upright, and saw that his arm had been expertly bandaged up; he also saw that a table laden with fresh fruits, chopped up vegetables, and a basket of fried fish had been set up immediately in front of him.

The woman who'd saved him was standing on the other side of the meal (though it was really more like a feast, given his current state), smiling genially down at him. Earlier he'd only caught a glimpse of her, but now he could see that she was well past middle age with iron grey tufts visible in her black hair along with quite a bit of excess weight around her upper arms and midsection. Her face was tanned and leathery, and at the moment it was creased with laugh lines as she grinned.

"You look hungry, dear. Dig in!"

He stared up at her, speechless, before diving into the first thing he could get his hands on. At the back of his mind he remembered Mallory, but the food overwhelmed all other considerations as he tore into a delicious piece of fish.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

Having arrived just in time to witness the angry conversation, Mallory tried to hide herself and her heaving breath behind an empty barrel. It was not the first time she was grateful for her insignificant size. Although she also found herself wishing she had half the strength the woman, Margo, had, to be able to push those bullies into the dust, this was probably for the better. How dare they try to beat up innocent, hungry children! Had they no shame?!

She could almost feel the mixture of disappointment, anger, and days of filth hanging in the air after the men left and the woman went back inside. Well, the 'days of filth' was more than a feeling, if Mal's nose still functioned normally. Still clutching the chicken, she tiptoed towards a window in the house, grabbing a tomato in the passing. What she saw through the unusually clean glass made her drop the bit of chicken she had just torn off with her mouth. She deftly caught it in her hand. No sense in wasting anything, even if Blake was just casually enjoying a gourmet meal if Mal had ever seen one! Without her! And it wasn't stolen! The improbability and envy made her head spin, and her right hand fingers became suddenly wet as the tomato was crushed in anger. How could he.

Even as Mallory was seething in anger, the woman chose to look out the window. Mallory froze, her most primal instincts battling for control. On one hand, neither her nor Blake had ever been exactly welcome anywhere. On the other hand - now he was, and there was food, as much food as the poor girl had ever seen. As it turned out, she didn't get to make a decision, as Margo marched to the door and opened it with a "Can I help you, sweetheart?"

Mallory almost choked. Someone was being genuinely nice. "I, uh... He's my friend. In there. That one." She pointed at Blake through the window just in case Margo didn't know who she was talking about. The woman laughed heartily. "You don't say! Why, you certainly look the type o' girl to get anyone in trouble, and like someone who needs a good meal and a nice scrub." Margo gestured at the open door, and Mallory entered, dumbstruck. It was like a dream, and she had to pinch herself as she sat down next to Blake. The chicken was carefully placed on the table in front of her. Even if food was temporarily plentiful, there was still no sense in wasting what could be saved for later.

As Mallory walked in, Blake felt the blood drain from his face as he realized how the scene must've looked to his friend. Loyal as he was, the sight of the food-laden table was enough to make him forget all about her, and the echo of what he'd done filled him with shame. And fear, too.

Shocked and stunned as Mallory appeared to be, Blake took his eyes off the food in front of him to watch her nervously as she sat down next to him. "Hi Mal, I uh… I saved y'the bes' piece," he said anxiously as he offered her the unbitten piece of fried fish in his hand, that was, in fact, the best piece. It was also the piece he'd been about to wolf down with no hesitation before Margo - his angel and savior - had opened the door to reveal his friend. But he was willing to make the sacrifice in exchange for not getting beaten. His hand shook slightly as he extended it, and he tried his best to hide the relief he felt at the absence of forks or knives in the vicinity.

His attention wandered over to the remnants of Mal's chicken on the table, but he immediately looked away as if he'd been burned. Eyeing up his friend's meat wouldn't help him one bit.

"Once you two have eaten your fill," Margo said gently, evidently unaware of Blake's predicament, "I'll draw a couple of hot baths in the next room." She placed two cups of water down in front of them and straightened back up, before gesturing to the doorway behind her. "And then you can tell me all about what brings you two to Kalun."

Blake blinked, realizing they were actually in a place he'd heard of before. It made sense, given his limited knowledge of the world outside Denyan and the fact that Kalun was one of the closest neighboring ports, but it was still something of a shock to be in a place he'd been aware of before. The world outside of the streets he'd grown up on was one strange blur to him, and it was nice to have found something of an exception. In any case the woman's kindness was both unexpected and wonderful - he wondered if Mal would be alright with giving up their plans to stay right where they were. Assuming she didn't take a stick to him the way she'd done with Lester.

She snatched the small fried fish out of Blake's hand and proceeded to perform her favorite magic trick: making food disappear into thin air. Wow! Never before had the crowds been so enchanted. The fish had vanished in a matter of seconds, with only a pile of thin little bones on a plate to show that it had ever existed! Encore, encore! Another piece of fish disappeared the same way, and then another, and another. Margos' kind voice was a drone in the back of Mallory's mind as the children ate. She did, however, have enough presence of mind to growl and push the chicken further away from Blake when she caught him looking.

"We're lookin' for a ship," she said with the self-assured air of people who have almost everything they want in the moment. "Y'see, that's the only way to travel, and that's what we're doing. Traveling."

She did not think that Margo, despite her kindness, would take well to their being pirates. Even if they hadn't actually pirated anything yet, they were well on their way to becoming infamous. Clearly, when big men chase you, you are worth something. Maybe they already had a bounty! The excitement of being a high-profile wanted criminal almost outweighed the sad fact that the thing that had earned them their 'wanted' status had taken place on land. Mallory could live with that. As long as people feared them like they should, she was happy.

"Traveling, you say," Margo replied, tapping her chin. "Well, there can't be much time for washing on the road. Let me give you two a nice bath before you're on your way again. You could use a good night's sleep too, I'm sure," she added kindly with a glint in her eyes. "Now, eat up, eat up!" And with that, she grabbed an enormous bucket and excited the house, no doubt to fetch water.

Mallory turned to Blake. "She sure is nice," she said, almost puzzled. Not even her mother was that kind. There were always turnips to be peeled and floors to be swept at home, and none of that here.

Blake grunted, helping himself to one of the last remaining bits of fish as they continued to decimate the food in front of them with buttery ease. He pulled a bone from between his teeth and swallowed, waiting barely a second before seizing a buttered roll and shoving it into his mouth as if afraid it would vanish before he could get his hands on it. Then again, given the gusto with which Mallory was eating, that wasn't a farfetched possibility.

"Ye', 'e's nicer'n anyone I s'n befo', Mal," he mumbled thickly around a mouthful of bread; he wasn't sure if she'd be able to understand what he was saying, but he had no desire to stop eating for the time being. He swallowed with an effort, before looking to his friend even as he grabbed a second roll. "Bu' d'we needt' take baths?"

There was probably more dirt than skin on him, and Mallory wasn't much cleaner, but the prospect of washing himself made Blake feel rather nervous. It was quite a bit out of his element, and he worried that too much soap might harm him. He'd heard of a man who died because of too much soap, back in Denyan - to be fair, he'd been bathing near the shoreline and had been dragged out into the open ocean by the current, but Blake firmly maintained that the soap probably kept him from seeing where he was going, which led to the drowning.

Soap. It was pure evil.

As if summoned by his fearful thoughts, Margo returned with her bucket, hefting the full container with suprising efficiency given its size. Then again, her arms were far from thin. "I'll just get a fire going under this, there's already some heating up inside," she said cheerfully as she carried her burden into the next room. "And don't worry - I have lots of soap!"

Blake's face paled immediately.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

Everything was fine and dandy. Then, everything changed when soap was mentioned.

Mallory froze. She could not believe her own ears.

"Listen, Blake, it's okay," she said, grabbing his wrist so hard her knuckles were turning white. A piece of fish managed to escape from her mouth onto the floor, but for this one time, she did not notice. She could watch Blake's whole world slowly falling apart in his muddy brown eyes. He was familiar with soap - when they were little, Mallory's mom had sometimes demanded that he wash before he was let into the house, and she had sent her out with a bucket of icy water and the smallest sliver of soap for him. Mallory could still remember his idea of washing - dipping his fingers in water and drawing slightly less filthy lines on his face with it. He was never allowed to remain that way for long, as she always promptly proceeded to empty the bucket of water on him.

"We're gonna take a bath, and it will be okay. Just like when we were kids. It'll be our bath this year! We won't have to do it again." She managed a small smile. Standing up, she marched towards the door Margo had indicated - Blake in one hand, chicken in the other.

The walk to the next room was much shorter than what Blake would have liked; as he drew closer to the door he felt his feet dragging, though it did no good with Mallory pulling him irresistibly forward. She probably couldn't do it if he'd been holding back in earnest, but he would never fight her - her words helped, though. One bath for the year was pretty reasonable.

"I'll let you two sort out who will go first," Margo said with a smile whilst she draped some towels and fresh clothes over the back of a chair. And no peeking!" she added with a sly wink as she left, shutting the door behind her.

Blake stared after the woman, confused, before removing all of his clothes. "Wh'she meant, no peekin', Mal?" he asked, as he stood naked in front of her. The garments on the floor around his feet looked very much like a heap of mud that had been given cloth-like qualities, but he felt uncomfortable without their reassuring grime on him.

He moved to the large metal tub, observing the shimmering mist coming off the surface of the water; his eyes found a large bar of white soap perched on a corner of it and he recoiled, seeing his whole life flashing before his eyes. Well, mainly the last day or two, anyway, and for some reason he very vividly remembered a talking fish and finding **** on his face. His life was definitely one worth remembering.

He stared at Mal - his life wouldn't have been what it was if not for her. She was the only thing keeping him going, and he wouldn't stop following her any time soon. But maybe it was time for him to show her he could take some initiative on his own.

With a growl of determination, he screwed up his face and hefted a leg over the tub's edge. His toes touched the hot water, and he immediately pulled back, watching as a cloud of dirt descended into the container's depths. He fully intended to stop there, deciding he'd bathed enough, but as he tried to pull back he began wobbling as he fought to regain his balance.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

"I dunno," Mal replied, stripping off her own filthy shirt and pants. Blake naked was nothing new - they had known each other since they could barely speak, after all. She still crossed her arms in front of her chest, though. She wasn't very shy and honestly did not have much to hide, but she had seen other girls do it sometimes, so maybe that was just something you did. She shrugged. People were weird outside of Denyan.

Encouraging his soap-related heroism with an encouraging nod, she watched as Blake attempted to touch the water without recoiling so fast the whole thing would topple over and flood them. It didn't look like it would - Blake himself, however, looked decidedly unsteady. Well, Mallory would have none of that. He had gotten so far! Resolutely, she took three steps across the floor and gave him the final shove he needed to fall into the tub with a splash far mightier than his skinny body should have been able to make. Worried that she might accidentally drown him, she climbed back in after him and felt around until she was able to pull him up above the surface by his now slightly less messy hair.

"See, that wasn't so bad," she told him brightly, grabbing the soap and dumping it in the water. Better to get that part over with, he's scared out of his sputtering mind.

Instead of a steadying hand on his arm, Blake felt two hands pushing him from behind, and then a moment later he was plunging into the water. He tried to scream, but all he managed to create was a stream of indecipherable gurgles as he flopped and thrashed violently in the water. It turned out Blake couldn't swim, although if he'd had the presence of mind to stand up he would've been perfectly fine.

He was under the surface, preparing to die, when fingers knotted painfully in his hair and yanked him up. He reached the air above the tub once more and gasped, turning to stare at Mallory with something that would have been a look of rage if he wasn't squinting quite so hard so as to see with water still in his eyes.

"Why'd y'do that, Mal?! Y'coulda' drownded me," he panted, noticing that her usually messy brown bun had unraveled into a strangely dark tangled curtain. Her golden eyes reassured him that things weren't as bad as he was making them out to be, but a moment later he watched in horror as the soap went into the water.

He stared numbly as frothy bubbles began to become visible; he slowly edged away from them, eyeing them as a swimmer would watch a shark drifting dangerously close to their location. "I think I'm ready t'come ou' now," he whispered with wide, red eyes as his back pressed up against the side of the tub behind him.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

"Don't be a crybaby, Blake," Mal snapped in response to his soaphobia. He was almost a year older than her, why was a few bubbles such a big deal? She proceeded to sit down in the tub just to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of - even if the flowery smell rising from the water was strange. A second later, she regretted her decision, as she was only just tall enough for her chin to be above water when she sat down.

"See," she bubbled tentatively in the surface of the water. "'snot so bad." A few more bubbles arose from behind her, and she giggled. Not all bubbles were of the terrifying kind!

The door creaked, and Margo stuck her head in. Her eyes widened at the sight of the two teenagers in her bath - one snickering madly, the other looking like he had stared into the abyss and the abyss had stared back. A few weak protests were stifled before she uttered them. After all, the pair did not look like they were up to anything scandalous. Instead, she cast her gaze on the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. A quick, unwise sniff at them made her draw her head back faster than if she had caught Blake and Mallory doing something unseemly.

"I'll just wash, er, burn these," she said, still obviously quite shocked. Mallory shot her a grin that reached from ear to ear. She was, despite Blake's horror, or maybe because of it, enjoying herself immensely. "Thanks, Marge!"

"It's Margo," the woman mumbled as she left the room, holding their dirty clothes out at arms length. Mallory took the opportunity to flick some water at Blake.

Blake couldn't help but smile at the sight of Mallory craning her head upward to keep it all above water; a moment later the bubbles behind her popped, and he found himself covering his nose as the smell of dead animals mingled with garbage wafted over him like butts.

"Dude!" he cried out in a muffled voice as Mallory giggled; a moment the door opened, and the sight of Margo taking the clothes out as if they were capable of attacking her, coupled with Mallory's demeanor, had him relaxing in spite of himself.

Mal was right - it wasn't that bad.

She flicked the water at him and he grinned, even as a droplet hit him directly in his right eye. Eager for revenge, he took both hands and shoved them along the surface of the water, sending a small wave into her face. "Sharks'n th'water, Mal!" he cried happily as he hooked one of her legs with his foot and pulled.

A day that had begun like a nightmare had transformed into a dream come true. He hoped he'd never wake up from it.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

Mallory shrieked as she was pulled under the soapy surface, which turned out to be a supremely stupid decision, since her mouth was soon filled with water rather than air. She pushed herself up, wet hair whipping around her, gasping for breath. Her lungs were burning. "Why the **** did you do that, you moron?!" She gasped, glaring at Blake. It was hard for her to not see the humor in the situation once she had gotten over the worst of the shock, though, and she soon succumbed to a coughing laugh. She could not recall ever being so relaxed or happy in her life.

The rest of the bath passed without much more excitement; there were a couple more farts, the soap bar slipped out of Blake's hand and hit him in the eye, and a splash of water got onto Mallory's chicken, but beyond that it was pretty quiet, up until the moment the pair was shown where they were to be sleeping for the night.

"Huh?"

Margo smiled, her eyes twinkling as she watched the confused boy standing in the doorway with his arms dangling limply at his sides.

"I said this is where the two of you will be sleeping, dear. I hope the bed is big enough, I'm sorry I don't have another - I know you kids probably want your own, but you'll have to make do."

Blake stared at the wide rectangle, his eyes roving unblinking over the soft blankets and the plump pillows - it looked like something taken straight out of his wildest and most farfetched dreams. It was set down on a base that looked like it was polished wood, and it even had posts at the ends. Probably f'firewood in case i'gets cold, he thought sagely, applying his own brand of logic to the situation. Still, it was hard to believe someone could possibly own a bed like this without possessing vast amounts of wealth. He himself was accustomed to sleeping on whichever patches of dirt seemed the softest, and areas without **** on them were usually bumped to the head of the list.

"Are y'- you a Queen?"

There was no way anyone short of royalty possessed such a thing, and the fact that she had one just for guests was mind-blowing. She was probably an Empress, living in disguise among peasants like they did in the fairy tale books he'd heard about. He'd owned one of them, but he never got past the first page. The missionary who'd gifted it to him told him that if he wanted a future he'd have to 'hit the books', but no matter how many times Blake punched the thing he never learned a single word. The memory still brought back pangs of shame as he remembered his failure.

Margo only laughed, calling him a silly little goose, and then shut the door firmly behind her.

"Can'ya believe it, Mal?" he asked, moving over to the bed and pouncing onto it, bouncing lightly at the center as he sprawled himself out, smiling from ear to ear. "S'like sleepin' on a cloud."

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

She really couldn't believe it. What incredible luck they'd had! Dashing rogues like them got what they wanted. It had been proven beyond any doubt now. Still, this was no time to be snooty. With a shriek of laughter, she jumped into the bed after Blake, her borrowed, oddly fitting skirt billowing as she jumped up and down on the bed, flying upwards with very little effort every time she landed. Her eyes shone with excitement at every new experience.

"Like jumping on a cloud, too!" She laughed, falling down next to him and spreading out her arms and legs to cover as much of the bed as possible. The ceiling above them was so clean; no cobwebs, no odd colored stains, no smoke damage. Her ear-to-ear grin slowly dimmed down to a lazy smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She reached out and took Blake's hand.

The water was freezing cold, and each wave sent Blake into a new string of gasps as he fought to keep his head above the water. He clawed desperately at the surface, but he could feel the current beneath him threatening to drag him under. It was strong and limitless, while his power was fading by the second. He looked desperately around for something to hold onto, but he was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by churning waves on every side.

And then he fell under.

He plunged down into the depths, his limbs too exhausted to fight anymore. He reached up, weakly, imploring the emptiness above him, but no aid would be coming. It was all over for Blake. At least, that was what he thought.

Something came up from underneath him and he felt himself zooming back to the world above; a moment later he broke free of the water's grasp and surged upward into the air.

"Wha's happ'ning?" he said as he looked down and saw a gigantic fish underneath him.

"I HAVE COME TO SAVE YOU, BLAKE," it boomed as they continued to soar through the air with the violent sea now far below them. "YOU ARE SAFE NOW."

Thank you… buh' wha's y'name?"

"MY NAME IS CODIE, BLAKE."

A jolt of pure joy shot through the boy as his dreams came to life; it was happiness beyond anything he could've ever imagined possible. Everything was going to be okay. He wouldn't be drowning, and most importantly, the fish was named Codie. Still, it was difficult to believe it, given the last conversation he'd had with a fish.

"R-really? Y'name's really Codie?"

"**** NO. CODIE IS A TERRIBLE NAME FOR A FISH, BLAKE. AS A MATTER OF FACT, I SHOULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW."

"Wait…" he whispered, horrified, as the fish suddenly veered upward, shooting straight up into the heavens, "are you… Joseph?"

"BYE BYE, BLAKE."

The fish turned over, and Blake screamed as he plummeted back down towards the choppy, churning waters down below.

He fell beneath the surface and choked on the salty water -

Blake's eyes opened and he threw an arm out over him in a desperate attempt to swim back to the surface, only to find himself in the bed Margo had lent Mallory and him for the night. But the dream had felt so real… he'd felt the wetness of the water, tasted the salt of the sea…

He choked, and gingerly removed Mallory's hand from his mouth; that explained the taste, and then a moment later he spotted her head on his chest, as well as the large wet spot on his shirt that originated from her open mouth. He breathed a deep sigh of relief - it was just yet another dream that he'd prefer to forget.

Realizing he had to pee, he got up and, upon seeing no buckets available in the room, moved to the door. Strangely, when he attempted to pull it open it wouldn't budge. It was either jammed or locked from the other side - he wasn't sure why, but his immediate response was to put an ear to the wood and listen.

"Two, you said? What kind of condition are they in?"

It was a man's voice, heavy and rough, but the tone was soft, scarcely louder than a whisper. Blake frowned, pushing his head more firmly against the wooden surface so as to hear more clearly.

"A tad bit underfed, but strong," replied Margo's voice, also low but with a lot more energy. "If you push them they'll give you more than your money's worth, I swear on it."

"But you said one's a girl. I ain't biting."

"She's tough, I promise you!"

"On a ship, though… hmm… well I'll take your word for it, but I'm only giving you a quarter of the fee for the ****ing."

Blake blinked; his mouth was very dry and his heart was pounding frantically, but he remained glued to the spot. Something was very wrong. Why, it sounded like they were being-

"Come now! We've been doing business a long time, Jarod, you know I don't toy around with words. The girl can work, I said, and if you really believe me you won't try to **** me on the price."

There was a moment of silence, and then a gruff reply came forth as the haggling continued. "Half the fee, best I can do."

"Lots of ships sink or get taken, you know, and most times it's not because a woman is on board…"

"I know, Margo, but-"

Blake moved away from the door, his eyes wide and his whole body numb; he didn't have the most perceptive of minds, but even he was able to figure out what was going on outside the bedroom. And there was no way out, except for a door that wouldn't open.

However, before he could do anything about their situation, he first needed to tell Mallory what was happening.

He walked over to her and began poking her hard in the side, all while covering her mouth with his free hand as he whispered frantically into her ear.

"Mal, Margo'stryin'tasellusoff t'someguyoutsideth'rooman'he'sgonnacometake us, weneedt'ageh'outtaherebeforeit'st'late," he said as quickly and as silently as he could, only taking two breaths during the proclamation. Mal was probably the only person alive with half a chance of understanding him, and even she'd likely have difficulty with the unrestrained torrent of panicked words he flung at her, but he was too distressed at the moment to care.

He tried to take a breath, and as he looked up he spotted the tiny, rectangular window in the corner over the bed.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

If she had been anyone but her, Mal would never have bee able to understand the stream of gibberish Blake was spouting at her. As it was, in her current 70% asleep state, she actually did not understand him, but she managed to grasp the general idea: Danger was imminent. She shot up, headbutting Blake in the process, but there was no time to care. Their miserable lives had prepared them efficiently for only one thing. Finding an escape route was second nature to them after fifteen years of running from bullies, her mother, and more recently, very angry, hungry, literal pieces of ****.

The window was up high near the ceiling, and looked far too small for anything but a toddler. But what choice did they have? She pinched her arm. It was bone thin, but she was not two-dimensional, and neither was Blake. She had just about given up when an idea came to her.

"Blake, get under the bed now!" She hissed as she jumped up on the bed to reach the window, hoping he would just do as she said and not ask any of his stupid questions. Glass could be shattered, right? She had never actually seen anyone break a window before, as no one in Denyan could afford to fill out their window frames. But one time had to be the first! She bunched up her first and punched as hard as she could.

It did not go as expected. The glass got a tiny crack, but more importantly, her knuckles hurt like Hell. She bit back two screams; the first one out of pain, the second out of frustration as she realized the window could be unlocked. She slammed it open. It hit the wall on the outside of the house, but Mallory had no time to regret her actions as she flew under the bed, pressing herself as close to the floor as possible and covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her panicked breathing, even as she heard the voices outside the door and approaching footsteps.

Blake heard the order to get under the bed, but before he moved he watched as Mal tried to punch through the window. The glass looked too thick to be broken like that, but he knew his friend probably had worked out some master plan for how to get it done. Maybe she'd figured out some kind of math thing that would allow her to break through. A moment later he smiled, as she bit back a shout of triumph - she'd punched the window so hard it unlocked itself!

He slipped under the bed, nearly sneezing as his face collided with a number of cobwebs, and felt Mal slide in next to him. He held his breath, and his nose (the sneeze just didn't want to go away), as the door creaked open. A heavy set of footsteps reached the bed, and he heard a whispered curse as two pairs of footfalls plodded rapidly away from them. A moment passed in silence, and with an effort Blake managed to half-turn over so as to see Mallory.

"D'you think they gone?" he whispered, even as the silence around them started to initiate a loud ringing in his ears. Before she could answer, a pair of strong hands seized him around the ankle and pulled, and with a squeal Blake was yanked out from under the bed, sliding out with frightening speed thanks to the strength of the person pulling him.

_________________

Learning a simple lesson isn't always simple. Sometimes, you have to slowly lose everything great around you to understand the gravity of your shortcomings. Admit that your egos have grown too large, that you've lost your sense of what you realistically are, and maybe you can repair the road that has broken beneath the weight of your failings. Or maybe you'll just keep going as you've gone, and you'll learn nothing, and eventually, everything around you will become dust. To be honest, that's by far the likeliest of all outcomes.

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